“Mr. Hill,” he said, “you promised me one time to give me the loan of a gun. Well, now is the time I need it.”
“Nope,” warned Bunker, “you ain’t got a chance. Them fellers are just up here to get you.”
“Well, for self-defense!” protested Denver, “Dave sent word he’d kill me.”
“Keep away, then,” advised Bunker, “don’t give him no chance. But if them fellers should jump on you, just run to my house and I’ll slip you the old Injun-tamer.”
Denver went out on the street, now swarming with traffic, and looked up toward his mine; and as he gazed he walked up closer until he stopped at the fork of the trails. The men behind the wall were watching him grimly, without letting their faces be seen; but as he stood there looking they 225began to bandy jests and presently to taunt him openly. But Denver did not answer, for he divined their evil purpose, and at last he turned quietly away.
“Hey! Come back here!” roared a voice and Denver whirled in his tracks for he knew it was Slogger Meacham’s. He was standing there now, looking across the barricade, and as Denver met his gaze he laughed.
“Ho! Ho!” he rumbled folding his arms across his breast and thrusting out his huge black mustache. “Well, how do you feel about it now?”
“Never mind,” returned Denver and, leaving him gloating, he hurried away down the trail. Old Bunk was right, they had come there to get him, and there was no use playing into their hands; yet at thought of Slogger Meacham his hair began to bristle and he muttered half-formed threats. The Slogger had come to get him–and Dave Chatwourth was behind there, too–the whole district was dominated by their gang; but the times would change and with inrush of other men the jumpers would soon be out-numbered. It was better then to wait, to let the excitement die down and law and order return; and then, with a deputy sheriff at his back, he could eject them by due process of law. The claim was his, his papers were recorded and no lawyer could question their validity–no, the best thing was to let the jumpers rage, to say nothing and keep out of sight. That was all that he had to do.
226But to avoid them was not so easy, for as the day wore on and no attempt was made to oust them, the jumpers walked boldly into town. At first it was Chatwourth, to buy some tobacco and break in on the Miners’ Meeting; and then Slogger Meacham, a huge mountain of a man, came ambling down the street. He slouched down on the store platform and leered about him evilly, but Denver had retreated to his cave under the cliff and the Slogger returned to the mine. Then they came down in a body, Chatwourth and Meacham and all the jumpers; but though his mine was left open Denver refrained from going near it, for their purpose was becoming very plain. They were trying to inveigle him into openly opposing them, after which they would have a pretext for resorting to actual violence. But their plans went no further for he remained in retirement and the Miners’ Meeting adjourned. Soon the street was deserted, except for their own numbers, and they returned to the mine with shrill whoops.
From his lookout above Denver watched them with a smile, for his nerve had come back to him now. Now that Murray had made his strike, and increased the value of the Silver Treasure by a thousand per cent over night, Denver’s mind had swung back like a needle to the pole to his former belief in the prophecy. He had doubted it twice and renounced it twice, but each time as if by an act of Providence he was rebuked for his lack of faith. Now he knew it was so–that the mine 227 would be restored and that only his dearest friend could kill him. So he smiled almost pityingly at the loud-mouthed jumpers and went boldly down the trail.